


O ipamis

by mysterymind277



Series: Children of Heaven [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Heaven, Kid Fic, Sibling Love, young!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 21:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterymind277/pseuds/mysterymind277
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were a dysfunctional family, the angels, but a family nonetheless, and within every family there are stories to be told.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O ipamis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [riseofthefallenone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseofthefallenone/gifts).



> Hi! 
> 
> This is my first fic on AO3, so I'm pretty excited. I hope you like it!

There was a time, many eons ago, when God’s holy angels were not so well-versed. A time when many of them were little more than children, and the heavens rang with cries of ‘Rafael, get out of my room!’, ‘Stop singing, Lucifer, I’m trying to read,’ and ‘Dad, Gabriel isn’t sharing!’.

Of course, angels grow up like everyone else – albeit a little slower- and time moves forwards.

Sometimes, the angels wish it wasn’t so; at others, they are glad they’ve escaped the grim confusion of childhood.

There was a time when they were truly brothers.   

* * *

God chose His household very carefully. While He considers every angel to be one of His children, only the brightest and the best can be part of His immediate family. He adopted His sons from every echelon of the angelic hierarchy - excepting the cherubim due to their lack of discipline - and sought to find balance in the qualities of their personalities.

He chose Michael for his obedience, Raphael for his strength and Gabriel for his passion. These were gifted archangels, and obvious choices. Beyond that however, He was unsure.

An archangel called Lucifer became the fourth son after much deliberation. He certainly had charisma, and seemed to hold the other angels in a kind of wonderful thrall; of course, the strength of his will wasn’t clear at the time.

Finally, two lesser angels. Balthazar - for his ingenuity – and a small one named Castiel. The other angels were perplexed as to what the Good Lord saw in Castiel, as he seemed weak and afraid. Nevertheless, God insisted that he showed promise; he would someday be great, one way or another.

This was the family at the centre of the Host, and though it did not last, it has never been forgotten.  

* * *

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, Gabriel. Don’t answer Lucifer’s prayers!”

It is a grim, cloudy night about the Host, and this is due to yet another argument between the Holy Father and his second-youngest son.

“But Dad...he’s in pain! Surely just once couldn’t hurt...” Gabriel’s pleas are ignored; much like the wailing of his thrice-damned big brother.

“Remember when I used to send Castiel to sit on the Stairs? Remember how I told you not to talk to him because that was the worst part of the punishment? Hmm? This is the same thing! Lucifer is in Hell for a reason, you know.”

Gabriel looks away, muttering under his breath.

“What was that?” God is pretty sure of what he heard, and doesn’t like it one bit.

“Nothing.” Gabriel says, flushing.

“Good. Now get out.”

Gabriel turns and storms away, shutting the office door fiercely enough to make the surrounding clouds shift. As they do, he notices a tiny pair of wings retreat hurriedly into the shadows.

“Cas?” he asks wearily; arguing with his Dad is tiring work.

There is a moment’s pause before Castiel reveals himself. He is small and dark-haired and skinny, like a baby crow. His blue eyes are piercing.

“What did He say?” Castiel murmurs, watching Gabriel intently. “Is He really mad?” 

Gabriel is a little irritated at his brother for eavesdropping, but then remembers doing exactly the same thing when he was younger.

“Yeah, but only with me.”

Castiel looks worried all the same and his gaze drifts to Gabriel’s wings, which are poised for flight.  “Where are you going?”

“You don’t miss a trick, do you kid?” Gabriel says, trying to change the subject.

“Where?” Cas demands, more forcefully.

 “I can’t say.” Gabriel has already decided not to tell.

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“I don’t know that.”

“I promise!” Cas’ voice trembles slightly and Gabriel feels so, so guilty.

“Sorry, brother.” He says, reaching out to muss Castiel’s hair apologetically. The smaller angel ducks away from the gesture, looking distinctly upset.

“Look, I’m so-”

Castiel gives Gabriel one last hurt (sad-angry-scared) look and vanishes, wraith-like, in a blur of motion. Gabriel sighs deeply, unsurprised that Cas is done listening.

 _He isn’t the only one_ , Gabriel thinks bitterly, before bracing his wings and taking flight.

The whole host feels him leave, but by then it is too late to stop him.

* * *

In the minor panic that follows Gabriel’s departure, God buries His face in His hands, silently wondering what He has done to deserve such treatment. He is sorely tempted to reach for the whisky on the sideboard, but resists.

If His sons would just listen, life would be heavenly. The family is still shaken by Lucifer’s sudden and violent rebellion a few years previously, especially his younger brothers. God pretends not to notice the fear that now flashes in His youngest son’s eyes whenever He speaks to him. Castiel is barely a child, younger by far than his brothers, and was unprepared for God’s anger that day.

Gabriel, it seems, is trying to follow in his brother’s footsteps.

There is an abrupt knock on the door.

“Come in.” The Heavenly Father looks up to see His eldest son Michael standing in the doorway.

“Father.” The young archangel stands to attention.

“What is it, son?”

“We just felt Gabriel leave – would You like Rafael and I to retrieve him?”

God looks at His son closely. Michael is perfect, so obedient and composed that for a moment God is deeply proud that He chose him all those years ago. A wave of disappointment follows that pride; as well behaved as Michael is, he has never possessed the charm that made Lucifer so widely adored.

“I don’t understand. Why does Gabriel insist on copying Lucifer? Why can’t he be more like you?” God speaks without thinking, and sees barely concealed horror flash across Michael’s face.

“I...I...” Michael doesn’t know what to say. He has no right to advise his Father on anything, no matter how trivial. In the end, God knows all.

“Never mind.” The Good Lord sighs. “Yes. Go and bring him back. In one piece, mind!”

“Yes, Father.”  Michael turns back to the door, where Rafael, the second son, is waiting. Rafael bows his head respectfully and then the pair leave. The door closes with a quiet snap, and seconds later God calls out.

“Good luck!”

 _Such good sons I have_ , God thinks to himself. Then he remembers Lucifer, and His feeling of failure and regret returns. He reaches for the whisky, cursing quietly.

“Me damn it!”

* * *

Elsewhere in the Host, Balthazar is having a fairly relaxing time of it.

While Gabriel is kicking up a fuss, everyone has been too busy to notice that he has been lounging in bed for the best part of three days; eating apricots, drinking wine and reading a first edition copy of Virgil’s Aeneid that he managed to snag on his last trip to earth.

The angels are free to craft their rooms as they please, and Balthazar takes full advantage of that. Today, an enormous bed dominates; its owner is lying across it, wings sprawled out in a way so undignified that Michael would probably take offence.

There is a colossal thunderclap outside, and Balthazar rolls his eyes. He feels brief pity for Gabriel, wherever he is.

_Dad’s going to be fuming when you get home, baby brother._ Balthazar sends the thought in a random direction, hoping that Gabriel might take the hint and quit while he’s ahead; preferably before his Father gets too drunk.

Still, Balthazar can’t bring himself to care too much. For now, Gabriel is distracting everyone perfectly.

The quiet sound of knocking on the door catches Balthazar’s attention; he looks up from his scrolls. The sound is coming from so low down that he knows it must be Castiel – no other small angel would dare to bother him. Sure enough, the door opens a little and the youngest angel peeks inside.

“Hey, Cassy.” Balthazar says, raising a hand. Castiel waves back; it’s a cautious movement, as though he’s trying to gauge just how welcoming his brother is feeling.

“Hello.” Castiel seems upset, and Balthazar knows better than to ask why.

“You’re up late,” he comments, gesturing for Castiel to come closer. The smaller angel dutifully shuffles towards the bed.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

“It’s loud.” Castiel explains, pointing to Balthazar’s window and the roiling black clouds beyond. Thunder crackles ominously as if to illustrate his point.

“It’s not so bad. Come up here.” Balthazar pats the bed, and then draws his wings in to make space for Castiel, who clambers up and wriggles under the covers. Being so young, Cas lacks the experience to create his own room, and the one his Father created for him isn’t nearly so luxurious as this one. He never gets to see the rooms of his _oldest_ brothers, but somehow doubts that they are so lavish; Michael especially seems to frown upon extravagance.

While Cas is occupied with rearranging the cushions underneath him, Balthazar goes to hide his scrolls somewhere his less appreciative brothers won’t find them; the Aeneid is full of Greek myths and Greek gods, both of which are considered blasphemous in the extreme. After this, he stows the wine (self-indulgent) and the fruit (unnecessary) elsewhere.

“Balthazar?”

Balthazar turns to see Castiel looking more worried than ever.

“Hmm?”    

Castiel’s voice is muffled by one of Balthazar’s many blankets. “Why did Gabriel leave?”

Balthazar sighs, and Castiel thinks for a horrible moment that he actually looks distressed.

“Honestly? I don’t know. But don’t you worry, Cas. He’ll be back.” Balthazar returns to his place on the bed and lies down flat.

“He wouldn’t tell me where he was going.” Castiel says; he is still peeved about this.

“How rude of him.” Balthazar finds Castiel’s outrage amusing, but decides not to offend him by laughing.

“Do you think he could be with Lucifer?”

Balthazar turns to his brother, who stares back evenly. Evidently, he isn’t joking.

“I highly doubt it. Lucifer isn’t a very... _accessible_ person at the minute.” Balthazar eventually says. He decides it would be imprudent to explain to Cas the exact nature of Lucifer’s incarceration – no doubt it would give him nightmares of the worst possible kind.

Hell, it had given Balthazar nightmares.

There is a particularly loud thunderclap, and rain begins lashing furiously against the window. Castiel shivers, shuffling closer to Balthazar who strokes his hair lightly.

“That’s a hell of a storm.”

“Don’t say hell.” Castiel says sternly. “Dad says not to say hell.”

“Dad doesn’t care.”

Castiel looks doubtful. “Yes, he does.”

Balthazar shrugs and takes his hand away from Cas, whose wings twitch irritably in response. He mutters something unintelligible.

“Speak up, _merifri_.”

“You were making me sleepy.” Castiel rubs his hair vigorously, as if trying to erase the feeling of his brother’s hand there.

“Oh, sorry.” Balthazar laughs lowly, fondly; Castiel is sweet, in a juvenile way.

Balthazar decides at that moment that Castiel deserves neither the guilt of Lucifer’s falling, the wrath of his Father nor any of the other divine baggage that has been heaped upon him.

Seemingly sensing Balthazar’s moment of compassion, Castiel takes the opportunity to wind his slender arms around Balthazar’s. This earns him a questioning look, to which he responds with an adoring smile.

“Aren’t we a little old for cuddling, _iadpil-ar-loholo_?” Balthazar asks, raising an eyebrow. Castiel looks crestfallen.

“That’s what Rafael said.” Castiel admits. 

“You wanted to hug Rafael?” Balthazar splutters incredulously; only the very naive or the very stupid would even attempt such a thing.

“He didn't say that _specifically,_ ” Castiel assures him, “Only that I should learn to be stronger.”

Balthazar snorts.

_Rafael **would** say something like that to a child_.

After a few minutes of silence, Castiel speaks quietly.

“It’s really dark, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

It has been growing steadily darker, and now a black fog is pressing up against the windows, creating darkness so true that even the angels, with their preternatural vision, struggle to see through it. An intricate swirl of ice crystals is creeping across the glass, and the air inside is frigid – Balthazar hasn’t noticed the cold until now.

“They must not have found him yet.” Balthazar mutters – this gives him a kind of perverse satisfaction.  “Until they do, I’m getting under these covers. It’s bloody freezing.” 

 He slides down into bed and lets Castiel lie right next to him, so close that Balthazar can feel the faint reverberations of his grace beneath his skin. Balthazar has his faults, for sure, but he isn’t going to be the one to deny his brother shallow comfort. He has a heart.

“Sing me a song.” Castiel murmurs sleepily. He is barely awake; Balthazar can see the gleam of his eyes in the dark.

“I can’t sing, Cassy.”

“Please.”

“I don’t know any songs.”

“Sing me the lullaby that Lucifer used to sing.”

Balthazar makes a face, though Cas doesn’t see. “That’s a morbid song.”

“It’s pretty.” Castiel yawns widely and rolls over, turning his back to his brother. His wings are pleasantly warm on Balthazar’s side, though he remembers from experience that they fidget when Castiel is sleeping.

“Lucifer had a beautiful voice. I am unfortunately not so l-” Balthazar’s quietens suddenly. A shudder ripples through Castiel. Elsewhere in the host, there is a disturbance.

Michael and Rafael have returned empty-handed, and their Father is displeased.

His anger is tangible, and Balthazar feels it as strongly as if he’d had a physical being forced inside his ribcage. Castiel’s wings arc instinctively, like the spine of a disturbed cat.

The Call begins as a barely audible hum which works its way around the Host, slow-creeping and paralytic and awful. It grows louder, eventually morphing into words; a repetitive chant, a desperate attempt to summon Gabriel.

It is the opposite of a prayer.  

_O ipamis._

This cannot be.

_Noncf eolis osf._

You make discord.

_Gil adna._

We want obedience.

_Ar ds noncf nenni i adphaht._

That which you have become is unspeakable.

_Carma!_

Come out!

As the Call ends, Balthazar releases the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. His limbs have siezed; somewhere near his throat Castiel – who he had forgotten briefly – makes a low noise of fear.

Balthazar hushes him, pulls him close, hugs him tight. There are few things so painful to feel as the Call, with its sinister promises of shame and retribution.

At last, against his better judgement, Balthazar tries to remember Lucifer’s lullaby. The tune lingers in his mind, half-forgotten and mournful.

There, in the darkness of the Host, Balthazar sings.  

_Rest, shy rest, will you spend a while?_

_Rock this cradle of mine_

_Spin the wheels of time, shy rest_

_Will you spend a while?_

_Rest, sly rest, will you take me down?_

_Tie me to your cart_

_Put to sleep the day, sly rest_

_Still my beating heart._

In the end, the song is fitting.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Enochian: Balthazar calls Castiel merifri (angel) and iadpil ar loholo (him that shines)
> 
> If you have any ideas of things you'd like to see happen in this verse, message me! I'd love to hear them. The chapters are non-chronological, so it can be literally anything.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D


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